


Protecting Our Own (By Any Means Necessary)

by lilsmartass



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Boot Worship, Dark, Gen, Humiliation, Power Play, non sexual, protective!tony, self sacrificing!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt: Tony/Team, Tony has to beg for the team's lives on his hands and knees, and lick the villain's boots, preferably while the villain is shit-talking him, and preferably with the others in the same room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting Our Own (By Any Means Necessary)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of the characters in this are mine, probably for the best

**Taking Care of our Own (by any means necessary)**

 

Tony isn’t sure what’s worse. The fact that he, Tony Stark, proclaimed genius, has strolled into an obvious trap with no weapons ad no Iron Man suit, the fact that the person that’s captured him, well them, is none other than Justin Hammer, which is fucking embarrassing quite frankly, or the gun pointed unerringly at Natasha’s head. She’s tied, like the others, and Tony’s too far away, and even Justin couldn’t miss at this range. Tony isn’t sure how an idiot like Justin Hammer managed to lure and capture four of the Avengers, but the robots he has ravaging the city had done an incredible job keeping them distracted and off balance, and the control signal had been weak and seemingly masked and it had seemed like a good idea to go in unsuited in order to avoid setting off any proximity detectors triggered by technology and in all the chaos he and Bruce and Thor had assumed that the damage the robots were wreaking had extended to their communications system, not that Natasha, Steve and Clint were missing. The pieces are thunking into place in Tony’s mind with near audible clicks, but it’s too little too late.

Steve growls low in his throat, a feral sound Tony has _never_ heard the Captain make as Hammer’s finger tightens on the trigger and Tony’s hands come up in an instinctive placating gesture. “Woah, woah Justin. We’re all friends here. Why don’t you just put that down and tell me what the problem is?” He notes out of the corner of his eye that whatever the chains binding the others are made of, they seem resistant even to the strength which is cording Steve’s muscles and making his eyes bulge. Then his attention snaps solely to Hammer as the gun spins round to point squarely between his eyes, and Tony faintly wonders just how fucked in the head it is that he can breathe easier with the weapon pointed at him.    

“You Tony, my problem is you!”

He affects a wounded look, mind racing, frantically concocting and disregarding possible solutions. Nothing he can come up with is going to get all four of them out, and even Steve is vulnerable to bullets, could die if Justin goes for a headshot. “Why Justin, I thought we were friends. Is it my good looks that’ve got you riled up? Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve got genuine talent?”

Hammer’s face twitches.

Tony continues, mouth running of its’ own accord because why not annoy the sociopath with a gun. All he can do is buy time for Bruce to find them and really, really hope that Bruce is smarter than he is. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I pulled out of the weapons business before you could beat me, not that you ever could.”

The revolver fires and everyone flinches, Tony stumbling a few steps back instinctively as the floor just in front of his right foot explodes sending up a shower of cement splinters. Steve screams something behind his gag and Natasha’s eyes are alight with a fire that if turned on him would’ve sent Tony screaming for cover, but he has eyes for neither of them, attention riveted to Hammer as he says, in a calm voice at odds with the shot fired, “It’s the insufferable arrogance I really can’t stand Tony.” For a second, Tony thinks to speak, to offer a witty comeback in his own defence but then Hammer is speaking again and Hammer’s monologue gives him a chance to run a visual assessment on his friends. “You have everything, _everything_ , and you earned none of it.”

The others don’t seem injured, they’re all glaring at Hammer with lucid eyes so the drugs or whatever that allowed them brought here are gone, but the bonds are tight and seemingly unbreakable, and they must be disarmed, because if Natasha or Clint had even a paperclip between them they would all be out of here by now. Tony takes an involuntary step forward as the gun swings back again, this time aiming dead at Clint. “And now Tony I’m going to prove to you who the better, stronger man is. Going to show you _and_ your friends how weak you are without your gadgets and your money when nobody cares about your name.”

 _What are you without the suit?_ Steve’s voice over a year ago floats back to him, stuttering the breath in his chest and he almost doesn’t hear the next words, “Get on your knees.”

There is a moment of silence. “What?” Tony says, blankly.

Hammer is calm, not even smirking, “Get on your knees,” he repeats.

Tony stands straighter and narrows his eyes. “If you’re going to shoot me Justin, I’ll die on my feet.”

“It’s not you I’ll shoot,” and the hammer is deliberately thumbed back.

It’s the instant of pleading mixed with the fury in Natasha’s gaze which crumbles his resolve and, silent for the first time, Tony sinks slowly down. “Happy?” he spits, glaring up at a man he had never liked but had never expected this from either.

For a second, the revolver doesn’t waver from its lock on Clint, then it swings up slightly as Hammer focuses first on Steve, then on Natasha, smirking as Tony flinches every time he moves. “I’m going to shoot them one by one, and you’re going to watch.”

Involuntarily, Tony makes a soft choked sound of appeal.

“Unless...” Hammer’s voice trails off.

“Unless what?” Tony demands, not sounding anywhere near as in control as he would like.

“Unless you are willing to beg me for their lives.”

Beneath the arc reactor, Tony’s heart stutters in his chest. He would rather be shot and tortured than endure this, than endure this in front of _Steve_ but despite that, and despite the noises coming from the others which, even distorted by the gags Tony can tell are variations on _don’t Tony, not for us_ he can’t put his pride above them. He _can’t_. He spent so long being alone and lonely and now he has these people willing to die for him, and they will die for him, unless he can keep Hammer entertained. There is another beat of silence; Tony spends most of it hoping that Bruce and Thor will turn up right the fuck now. They don’t.

He closes his eyes, wets his lips. He’s Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. He’s never begged for anything. He’s not even sure he knows how. “Please,” he tries. “Please Hammer, don’t hurt them.”

“Don’t stop Tony,” Hammer sneers when his voice trails off.

Tony glares up at him. He’s on his knees being made to beg, but he’s not going to give this bastard the satisfaction of looking broken. “Don’t hurt them. You want me? You have me; I’ll do anything you want.”

Hammer steps up to him, so he’s standing right in front of him, taking advantage of, for once, being able to tower over Tony who remains at his feet. “Anything?” Hammer asks.

Tony nods, hoping Hammer can’t see how his hands are shaking. His mind is whirling, trying to guess Hammer’s demand: _give me your company, give me your Iron Man suit, suck me off_ and he doesn’t much care, he’s just looking for his moment. For the first time, Hammer is close to him, from here he can throw his weight against Hammer’s knees, topple him, beat him unconscious and bloody on the concrete floor. The ominous click of the revolver disturbs his thoughts. “I wouldn’t,” Hammer says simply. “Try and take me down, and I’m sure you can, and I’ll still get off one good shot. Is your escape worth a life? Needs of the many and all that?”

Tony knows, _knows_ , that any one of them would say their life was worth the escape of the others. He knows it because it’s what he would say in their place, but he also knows that Bruce is out there, and Bruce is better than he is and turns into an enormous green rage monster – which is an awesome super power, whatever Fury and his ilk and even Bruce seem to think, and he has no choice. He relaxes slightly, settling back onto his heels. “I won’t,” he promises, “I’ll be,” the word burns, tastes like acid on his tongue, “I’ll be good.”

Hammer reaches down and pets his hair, fucking pets him, like he’s a dog brought to heel and of everything that has happened it is that which makes the tears threaten. He looks down quickly because submissive averted eyes are still better than giving Hammer the satisfaction of his tears. “You want me to spare them?”

“Yes,” Tony says, and tacks on a bitten out, “please,” on the end, using his fury to mask everything else he is feeling.

The caressing hand is withdrawn from his head. “Show me you really want a favour,” drawls Hammer, soft and intimate and enjoying this far, far too much, “lick my boots.”

Blood rushes to Tony’s face, exposing his mortification for all to see. “Justin-” he starts.

Hammer is not in the mood to hear it. “Now Tony, or your pet assassin loses a knee.”

Tony doesn’t turn to look at the others, can’t, can’t endure their pity or shock. He has no reason to doubt that the gun is pointing where Hammer says it is. He bends and draws his tongue slowly over Hammer’s left boot. Hammer groans, low and obscene, and Tony knows he’s getting off on his degradation. No doubt he’ll be expected to take care of that too. He puts the thought firmly out of his mind because it is categorically _not helping_.

It is only after he has finished the left boot to Hammer’s satisfaction and started on the right that the Hulk and Thor burst in.

Tony stands as soon as Hammer is disarmed, looking around shaking and disorientated, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Bruce and Thor have stopped what were inevitable fatalities, Tony stalled Hammer for long enough to make sure of that, but not before Hammer got to prove irrevocably in front of pretty much everyone who’s respect matters to him that Tony would go belly up like a bitch in  heat should Hammer order it.

He lets the others take care of the mess and the cleanup. Not even reacting when Steve punches Hammer out, pulling his blow to non-lethal level only at the last minute, even though Hammer is already disarmed and restrained in Thor’s arms. Natasha walks over to him, puts a small, deceptively strong hand on his arm, “Tony-” she starts. He turns and walks out.

He’s not even planning on going to the debriefing, but if he doesn’t Fury will ask him uncomfortable questions because Tony is late to debriefings and uninterested in debriefings but he always goes to them. If, for no other reason, for the coffee. If he’s at the official debriefing, he’ll at least be able to try and divert attention onto how Steve, Natasha _and_ Clint all managed to get themselves captured by an imbecile like Hammer or how Bruce and Thor managed to find an enact a rescue so quickly. If he has to deal with Fury alone, he’ll have no such options, and he didn’t want to be part of the Avengers Initiative, the whole thing always sounded stupid to him, but now that he _has_ been a part of it, he can’t bear for Fury to tell him he no longer qualifies because he breaks too easily. He knows he breaks too easily, he can’t imagine Steve or Thor or Bruce even contemplating allowing themselves to be put in that position, but Tony knows lots of things other people don’t, and it really suits him if this fact becomes one of them.

He’s late as always, because going on time is as bad as not going at all in terms of setting off Fury’s something-went-wrong radar, even if it does mean pacing in front of the building for twenty minutes because he left the house too early, just wanting to get this over with. He’s greeted only by a chorus of heys instead of the _here he is, man of the hour_ that he’s half expecting and he’s so fucking grateful none of them tried to turn him into a hero over this that he could cry. He knows he’s not a hero, not even close. He knows it’s not exactly heroic to kiss the feet of the guy who’s killer robots you’ve just spent the day destroying.

He takes his usual seat, carefully keeping his eyes on Fury as so not to risk a sympathetic smile from anyone else.

“-and then we were here,” Clint finishes up.

Fury sweeps his gaze to Tony, “So you apprehended Hammer?”

Tony has to clear his suddenly desert dry throat before he can speak. “No. I was...I was with him for about twenty minutes.” He can feel the others looking at him.

“And yet you didn’t take him down?”

“I- He- ” He has to say it, he knows he has to say it but he doesn’t know how. He fights down the colour that wants to rise in his cheeks.

“Yes Tony, I’ve been wondering about that,” Steve chimes in abruptly, “How did you distract him for so long?”

Tony can hear the blood pounding in his ears. He’s pathetic, he knows it. He’s told himself so in the mirror in every language he knows (which is a lot by the way) but he can’t believe Steve would do this to him, can’t believe Steve would mock him. He had been _trying_. He had done his best.

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees, “I hate being drugged. It always plays ten kinds of hell with my memories.”

“So?” Clint demands, “You going to regale us with a tale of your heroism or what?”

Tony can’t keep his eyes on the table any longer. “You don’t remember?” he asks slowly. It’s too good to be true, they don’t remember, they didn’t see. He knows...but maybe nobody else has to, Bruce and Thor burst in and launched an attack, they saw him down, but really? They’ve all seen each other knocked over at an enemy’s feet. “I kept him talking,” he says neutrally and when no one contradicts him or gives any indication that they believe he is lying he grows bolder, “Hammer and I have got a lot in common, go back years. He was easy enough to distract, but I couldn’t get close enough without my suit because of the gun.”

“And so,” Thor breaks in with his own narrative. Thor loves debriefings, they remind him of telling stirring tales of his bravery in Asgard or something, “I and Bruce Banner in his fighting form burst in, taking Hammer by surprise and while Banner launched himself at the foe and disarmed him, I aided our comrades in freeing themselves of their bonds.”     

Fury makes a note in a ledger. He looks bored. His mind has already moved on to more exciting, more crucial, things than Hammer’s pitiful attempt to establish himself as a threat. “Alright, dismissed,” he says and the Avengers break from the room as quickly as children released from a classroom.

Tony is the last one out, staring hard at Steve’s back, still unsure whether to believe his good fortune. Steve hesitates once outside the briefing room, then takes another step before hesitating again and half turning. “I- ” he shakes his head and moves to continue on.

“What?” Tony demands.

A quick glance ahead shows the others waiting for them in an impatient huddle too far away to overhear. “Thanks,” Steve says quickly and quietly.

Tony regards him for a second, the blush which has been on his face since kneeling at Hammer’s command threatening again. He does remember, they all do, but they chose not to put it on record, chose not to tell Fury who could never understand, he’s proven he’s not worth it and yet he still has their protection. Better still, there is no pity or sympathy on any of their faces, for whatever reason, undeserved though it so obviously is, he still has their respect. “You too,” he answers and they move off together to join the rest of their team.

 

 


End file.
